


Songs for the End of the World

by cdocks



Category: Glee
Genre: Alternate Universe - Zombies, Apocalypse, F/F, F/M, Gen, Horror, M/M, Survival, Zombies
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-11-05
Updated: 2012-11-13
Packaged: 2017-11-18 01:46:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,626
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/555523
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cdocks/pseuds/cdocks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The world ends on a Thursday -- Klaine, Tike, Brittanacedes + zombies</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The world ended on a Thursday.

A Thursday evening, no less, which is really almost insulting. It isn’t in the dead of night, it isn’t with a cataclysmic explosion – not even so much as an earthquake or a disheveled Jeff Goldblum gesturing at a chart and hysterically saying to a panel of serious-faced businessmen that he “told you so”. It’s in a Pennsylvania hospital morgue at about five-thirty in the afternoon, when one of the corpses lying on the exam table suddenly sits up.

Truth be told, Kurt Hummel had more pressing issues that day.

“Yes. Yes, we’re all fine. Yes, I got Finn’s texts. All twelve of them.” This last was mumbled as an aside to Blaine, who snickered as he smoothly palmed the wheel to the left, steering the car around one of the many gentle curves in the highway. Kurt leaned forward, flipping open the mirror and grimacing at his reflection. Eight hours travel had done a definite number on his appearance.

“He said he’s flying into New York as soon as he can. Apparently there was some sort of mix-up and he did most of his Basic Training in Georgia?” Kurt shrugged, reaching up to try and coax his hair back into something resembling well-kept. It was no use, though. The static from squirming around on the seats all day had left him looking like a troll doll.

Snapping the mirror shut again, he did a little more squirming, legs aching from being cramped for so long. It was official – Kurt Hummel did not do travel well. At least, not car travel. Blaine, on the other hand, seemed perfectly content to drive and hum along to the radio and check his phone GPS every thirty seconds to make sure they were still heading in the right direction. Nevermind the fact that they’d been on the same road for the last hundred miles; it was better to be safe than sorry.

Opposites attract, maybe, but Kurt couldn’t suppress the soft smile at his boyfriend, who was obliviously looking straight ahead, keeping his gaze high and moving like a good driver and drumming his fingers on the wheel. His other hand was out the window, resting against the still-sun-warmed side of the Explorer and every so often matching drumming beats. His hair was loose and curling for once and Kurt had the sudden, wild, not-at-all-conducive-to-being-a-good-co-pilot urge to lean in and kiss where it brushed against the nape of Blaine’s neck.

But his dad was still on the phone and, dense in the area of male-on-male loving as he was, would probably discern that kissy sounds meant kissy actions. So Kurt focused again on Burt’s endless list of all the things to “be careful of/to”.

“Yes, dad, Blaine is being a very responsible driver. He slows and scans at every cross-street, comes to a complete stop at stop signs and yields to pedestrians, baby carriages and ducklings.” Burt’s reply was mildly indignant, but Blaine’s starry-eyed grin was worth it. “We’re going to stop in a half hour or so, probably, when we reach the hotel,” Kurt continued, glancing out the window at the dimly-lit scenery. It was close to eight in the evening, and the last bits of sunlight were stretching across the New York landscape, leaving everything warmly-lit and a little fuzzy, like a painting.

Ignoring the unfortunate tendency of his starched cotton shirt to wrinkle, Kurt curled up against the window, letting the music and the gentle rumble of the wheels against the road lull him into a relaxed state. “We’re meeting Tina and Mike and Mercedes at the hotel. I’ll be sharing with the girls,” he offered, half-teasingly. The relief in his father’s reply was audible, and Kurt glanced over to share an eyeroll with Blaine.

Shaking his head affectionately, Blaine turned off of the highway, heading down the side road that would lead to the cheap hotel they’d made reservations at. The road was even dimmer here, and eight hours in the car had probably left Blaine just as tired as Kurt, and he was humming softly along with the radio, covering a yawn. Only half-listening to his father’s chatter, Kurt reached out, resting a hand on Blaine’s shoulder and rubbing gently, mouthing the words “almost there” when his boyfriend glanced over and blinked sleepily. 

Blaine nodded a little, going back to humming, the soft rich sound of his voice blending perfectly with the music and the sound of the car and the road, and it was almost like a lullaby, so calming and relaxing and –

– and then it wasn’t calming, then there was a sudden thump, a squeal of tires, an animalistic screech and –

“Shit! – shoot, sorry, Dad, sorry.” Kurt straightened up, heart racing as Blaine quickly swerved to the side of the road. His stomach lurched at the sickening sound of a flat tire, rubber smacking loosely against the road. But it wasn’t nearly as horrific as the moaning that was coming from whatever Blaine had run over. Kurt was still fumbling with his seatbelt and trying to calm down his dad’s frantic demands for an explanation by the time his boyfriend was out of the car and jogging out to the road. He let out another nearly-inaudible curse, biting his lip and craning his neck to try and see what they’d hit.

“Yeah, yeah, we’re okay, we’re fine. Blaine just hit a deer or a…mountain lion or something,” Kurt muttered, finally getting his seatbelt undone. The buckle smacked against the window as he flung the belt off, rolling his eyes at Burt’s reply. “No, that was a joke. We’re fine. Everything’s fine. I’ll call you right back, bye.”

Shutting off his phone (and deciding it was a good idea he hadn’t mentioned the flat tire, as that would’ve prompted even MORE irrational panic), Kurt hopped out of the car and quickly strode towards Blaine. “What’d we hit?” he called out, preparing himself for a grisly sight.

Blaine didn’t answer. In fact, he hadn’t moved since reaching the site of the roadkill, back stiff, shoulders tense, absolutely still and silent. Kurt frowned, reaching out automatically to rest a hand on his boyfriend’s rigid arm, glancing at the thing almost as an afterthought. “Honey, what’s –”

But his concerned question died in his throat, because the thing they’d hit wasn’t a deer or a dog or even a mountain lion, as he’d joked.

It was a human.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for grossness and grisly-ness in this chapter.

“Was” being the operative word here. It was missing the vast majority of the skin on its face and chest, and what was left was greenish-white, sickly and hanging off the bones. Kurt’s stomach heaved, and he held his breath, staving off the urge to vomit. “Oh my god,” he croaked, clutching at Blaine’s shoulder. “Oh my god, Blaine…”

“I know.” Blaine’s voice was strained, and his skin was almost as pale as the…thing on the road in front of them.

Kurt swallowed hard, finally turning away and shutting his eyes tightly, mind racing as he tried to think of what to do. “Did you…did you even see him...it?” he managed, not wanting to take another look at the grisly remains, even to ascertain what gender it was. 

Blaine shook his head, exhaling shortly and audibly gagging. If possible, the thing smelled even worse than it looked, rotten meat, the metallic scent of blood and, underneath it all, a sickly-sweet scent that neither boy could quite place. “I though it was a…pile of leaves o-or a trash bag or something. I didn’t mean to…”

There was a tell-tale waver in Blaine’s voice, and Kurt automatically clicked his tongue and reached out, turning his boyfriend away from the thing and ducking to meet his gaze. “So, wait. It didn’t run out in front of you?” Blaine mutely shook his head. Kurt managed a wan smile, rubbing his hands up and down Blaine’s arms, trying to physically smooth away the anxiety and guilt he saw in those wide woeful eyes. “So it wasn’t your fault. This wasn’t your fault. We’ll just call…call someone and report and—”

That was when the thing moaned. Not the soft wheeze of air leaving punctured lungs, not the howling of the wind but an actual, definite groan, rattling up through the shattered chest and hissing out through the flesh of it’s face. Both young men whirled back, staring in horror as the pile of broken bones and shredded flesh…moved.

“…Blaine…” Kurt choked out, unable to look away as the thing twitched again, drawing one stump of an arm up under itself. It looked more human this way, cracked skull lifting up slowly, dripping ichor and blood, lidless eyes rolling around wildly, then fixing on the frozen pair. Then the slack jaw dropped even more and the creature gave another horrifying sound before reaching out towards the boys.

“Get behind me,” Blaine ordered in a whisper, narrowing his eyes and even going so far as to spread his arms out, like expanding his compact frame into a starfish shape would somehow protect Kurt from the thing. Despite his disgusted fascination, Kurt spared a moment to roll his eyes, grabbing his boyfriend’s shoulders and tugging him back.

“Don’t be stupid; you aren’t going to suckerpunch a zombie,” he hissed. Speaking the word aloud was like a key, twisting deep in Kurt’s gut and settling everything into place, in grim clarity. This wasn’t a dream. This was real. There was a person that should be dead slowly crawling towards them, and that meant the entire world no longer made sense.

Struggling to remain calm – because why zombies, WHY, why not aliens or robots or something that the common cold and/or an array of government nuclear devices could finish off? Why did the world have to end with decaying flesh and brain-eating? – Kurt pulled Blaine back another couple steps, gradually putting distance between themselves and the zombie. “We’ll circle around and get back in the car,” he said in an undertone, hoping to distract Blaine from his courageous, if pointless overprotective act. “Then we’ll drive to the nearest town, and—”

Once again Kurt’s rational plan was cut off by a moan. But this time it didn’t come from the half-squashed thing in the road. It came from the field behind them, a long, wheezing sound stretching out from within the tall dead grass. And it was immediately answered by two, three, five more overlapping moans from the surrounding countryside. The noise rose and overlapped, not fading away like an echo would, but building until it was the only thing the pair could hear.

Kurt had stumbled back a little more at the sudden chorus of zombie moaning, dragging Blaine with him, but he froze at the sudden rustling in the thick grass behind them. “What do we do?” he hissed against Blaine’s ear. 

Any stammering reply Blaine had was cut off by another groan from the zombie in the road. It had inexplicably risen up onto its bony knees, one stump moving to drag it’s shattered body forward, the bones of its other hand reaching out to snag at the cuff of Blaine’s pants. Reacting without thinking, Blaine shouted in surprise and kicked out, hard, towards the creature’s head. 

The sound of his boyfriend’s shiny polished loafer sinking into the zombie’s rotted brain was too much for Kurt. He whirled around, doubling over and vomiting onto the road, the sound of it lost under the symphony of moaning. He could feel Blaine grabbing at his sleeve, yanking him back upright and running past the suddenly still zombie and towards the car. Kurt was reaching to fling open the door, when all of a sudden it was done for him.

“Get in!” Not bothering to question who the strange, wild-eyed man behind the wheel of their car was, thinking only of the shuffle and groan of nightmares right on his heels, Kurt flung himself forward, right on top of Blaine, fumbling to shut the door behind him, even as the stranger threw the car into drive and hurtled off.

There were several gut-churning sounds, of gunfire and groaning, but Kurt was too busy clinging to his boyfriend and trying to keep either of them from having a panic attack. Blaine’s arms were tight as iron around Kurt, fingers digging into his back, not seeming to care that he smelled of sweat and vomit and fear. Eventually the horrific sounds died down enough that the couple felt safe sitting up and eyeing their rescuer.

“…thank you,” Kurt managed finally, trying not to shudder at the man’s filthy state. He smelled almost as bad as the zombie had. “Without you, we would’ve been…”

“Zombie food,” the man supplied, offering a gap-filled grin. He turned the car abruptly, sending Blaine flying against the door with an “oof!” With a shocked gasp, Kurt sat up, ready to defend his boyfriend –

\- and instead found himself looking down the barrel of a shotgun.

“How ‘bout you boys show me how grateful you are and empty your pockets, hmm? Then I’ll let you two get out and get back to your business…”

Five minutes later, Kurt was standing penniless, phone-less and without so much as a change of clothes, watching his car speed away down the road. Blaine, in a similar state of mugged-ness, let out a soft sigh. “Well. We should start walking if we want to get to the hotel before dark,” he said, in a deceptively chipper voice. “They’ll probably have a phone, and maybe Mike and Tina are there by now.”

Managing a small smile at his boyfriend’s optimism, Kurt reached out to twine their fingers together, finding comfort as always from the smooth brush of Blaine’s palm against his. Then, alert for any more moaning or groaning, they started to walk.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warning for gore~

“Where were you guys?”

Kurt’s only answer to Tina was a pained moan as he immediately toed out of his boots and limped towards the bathroom. Blaine sighed, bending to pick up his boyfriend’s abandoned shoes, then gave Tina a weary smile through the untamed curly mass of his hair. “You wouldn’t believe us if we told you.”

“I think we might,” Mike said, looking somewhat pale as he glanced up from his iPhone. Tina nodded soberly, letting Blaine take her arm. He leaned most of his weight on her as they made their way to the couch in the lobby. It was then that Blaine noticed that the hotel was completely deserted, except for the three of them (and Kurt in the bathroom, presumably).

“Where is everyone?” he asked, looking around as if the concierge would suddenly pop up from behind the front desk. Tina exchanged glances with Mike, but neither of them said a word until Blaine was safely settled on the couch. Then Tina was up again, hurrying over to the coffee dispensers in the corner and filling up a couple of cups.

Mike scooted closer – almost awkwardly close, smiling at Blaine like he’d never seen another person before – then handed over his phone. “There’ve been reports coming in for the past couple hours,” he said in an undertone. The hotel was eerily still, the kind of ominous silence that frowns upon being broken. “At first they were on all the major networks, but those have been going down, one by one. At least all the East Coast ones.”

“The hotel manager turned off the TV after CNN aired footage of downtown Pittsburg,” Tina added, sitting on Blaine’s other side and offering him a cup of strong, bitter coffee. “Then he said something about checking on relatives.”

“We haven’t seen him since,” Mike finished gravely, taking the other cup of coffee with a grateful smile.

Blaine was scrolling through the CNN Los Angeles homepage, which was mostly peppered with smudgy photo’s and grainy cell phone footage. The message boards were blowing up with people talking about the end of the world, God’s judgment, Armageddon, and a few asking if anyone had seen so-and-so from this place or another.

“Has anyone heard from home?” Blaine asked suddenly, the thought occurring to him with a sickening jolt. Mike and Tina’s silence was answer enough. Swearing under his breath, he quickly typed in the familiar number for the Hummel’s house, waiting anxiously for someone to pick up.

The phone rang…and rang…and rang.

“Nobody at home’s answering, Blaine,” Tina said gently, after a few agonizing minutes had passed. “We’re just…just hoping that they all got out and are somewhere safe.”

Blaine slowly dropped the phone from his ear, letting it rest in his lap next to the rapidly cooling coffee. Seeing the thing – the zombie – in the road had been one thing, easy to write off as a fluke or a rogue experiment gone wild. But whole towns going dark, communication destroyed, hotels abandoned by flighty managers…

With a sigh, he dropped his head onto Tina’s shoulder, realizing for the first time, with an almost-smile that the first number he’d called had been Kurt’s.

///

Whoever was in charge of hygiene at this hotel wasn’t doing their job. There were dust bunnies the size of kittens gathered around the base of the sink, and the entire bathroom smelled like something had died in there. Clicking his tongue in disapproval, Kurt washed his hands for the third time, trying not to think about the blood and dark gray slime the zombie had been oozing. He hadn’t seen any get on him – aside from on the very cuffs of his pants, which were now soaking in the opposite sink – but better safe than sorry.

Drying his hands carefully on the paper towels and shivering a little – the bathroom was cold too, unseasonably so – Kurt tiptoed on socked feet over to check on the status of his pants. There were goosebumps all up and down his legs, and his untucked shirt only reached to mid-thigh, but he so wasn’t leaving the room until all the undead gunk was out of his clothes.

“Ug,” he muttered, draining the basin and refilling the sink with hotter, soapier water. The bathroom was small, only two stalls and a tiny closet – presumably for storage – so there wasn’t exactly anywhere to sit. Kurt frowned at the grimy floor, then decided to see if there was a bucket or stool in the closet he could sit on.

The knob was icy to the touch, and it stuck, rattling as Kurt tugged and pushed at it, swearing through his gritted teeth.

“Come on…stupid…piece of-”

One last yank and the door finally gave, swinging open and smacking Kurt in the face. He groaned in pain, hand coming up to hold his nose and praying desperately that he wasn’t going to pull a Rachel Berry impression. He didn’t think the apocalypse had many plastic surgeons available in the event of a broken nose.

But then he was suddenly distracted from this thought by the realization that he wasn’t the only one in the bathroom who’d groaned. Turning slowly, Kurt stared into the closet, and right into the hollow, glazed-over eyes of a zombie in coveralls and a “Hello, my name is ____” nametag.

///

Blaine’s coffee went flying to the floor at the sudden, piercing shriek from the bathroom. “Kurt!” he yelled, heedless of the hot liquid soaking into his socks as he barreled off the couch and to his boyfriend’s aid. Tina and Mike were right behind him, the former only stopping to grab a large broom from next to the garbage can.

All three of them slammed into the bathroom door, causing it to creak on his hinges and buckle slightly in the middle, but still it stood firm. Blaine fumbled with the doorknob, only to find it locked, then pressed his ear against the door. He heard panting, scrambling, then a long, low moan that sent chills up his spine.

“Oh my god…” Backing up a few steps, he ran forward and slammed into the door again, heedless of the fact that he was probably bruising himself black and blue. “Help me!” he choked out to the stunned Mike and Tina, who immediately complied.

The moaning grew louder and louder. It was deafening, even over the sound of the three teenagers hurtling into the door, and the rapidly escalating sound of Blaine’s breathing, interspersed with desperate words – “Kurt, Kurt, Kurt, oh god, hold on, Kurt ,I’m coming, we’re coming-”

A final slam into the door and it burst open, sending the trio tumbling into a pile. Clawing his way free from the pile of dazed Chang and Cohen-Chang, Blaine leapt forward, brandishing Tina’s broom and ready to defend Kurt from the zombies.

However, Kurt seemed to be doing just fine, standing and holding half of a plunger in his hand. The broken-off handle had been plunged into the eye socket of what appeared to be a custodial zombie, which was still twitching and growling, even as blackened blood oozed from its destroyed eye.

“…you’re alive,” Blaine stated, dropping his broom with a clatter.

Panting heavily, Kurt nodded, slowly bending to set the non-zombie-impaling part of the plunger very carefully on the ground. “Yeah,” he managed, turning and forcing a wavery smile for Blaine.

There was a pause, then Blaine all but flung himself at his boyfriend, clutching him close and exhaling against his neck, the sound half a sob. “Good…that’s…that’s good…” he choked out, clutching Kurt close, wanting to thank some sort of deity, but not entirely sure who was involved with zombie-related miracles.

“Why isn’t Kurt wearing pants?” Mike whispered, helping Tina to her feet.

She shrugged, bending to grab the broom, just in case. “The whole world’s gone crazy, Mike. Remember?”

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to msmoocow for beta-ing skills~


End file.
